


boy with the most cake

by homo_pink



Series: tumblr fics [4]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Eating Disorders, Food Anxiety, M/M, Patient/Janitor, Pica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 08:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10895415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/pseuds/homo_pink
Summary: Jared’s getting his stomach pumped today and Jensen doesn’t look at Jared like the factory machines made him wrong, or that he should be better by now.





	boy with the most cake

**Author's Note:**

> my small and paltry homage to _girl, interrupted_ \- including sweet nurse john.

Whenever anyone says he’s got him some bug eyes, they don’t ever mean cute or round or doll-blink sweet. His eyes aren’t. They’re kind of oblong. 

Pointed like the tip of a heart in the corners.

What they mean is insectish. Out of focus, buzzing. Like Jared might sting ‘em.

 

~

 

There’s an old man on the staff that’s in love with Jared.

Not _old_ old, Jared decides, but old like his cheeks can go furry. 

Old like when he smiles shy at a patient they say is full of long-named disorders and requires ‘round the clock supervision, the skin around his marble eyes gets fatherly little roadmap lines. Some of Jared’s pills are the same cheery green.

 

~

 

Before anything else, Jensen kisses Jared’s hand. 

It makes Jared feel like a shimmering damsel trapped in an old crumbling tower. Or a recently deceased. He likes both. He likes thinking he’s both.

Jensen the knight, a hero heart. Jensen the mourner, a necrophile.

 

~

 

The first time the man sees him, Jared’s deepthroating a ridged blue silicone tube.

He’s just passing by with his mop but he pauses his shuffle and looks into the sterility of Jared’s forever-room.

Jared’s getting his stomach pumped today and the man doesn’t look at Jared like the factory machines made him wrong, or that he should be better by now.

Jared’s getting his stomach pumped and the man with the mop looks like he wants to be the tube.

 

~

 

It’s only after he’s burned Jared’s lips to a red blister that he thinks to ask.

Jared’s never had two tongues in his mouth before this and he finds he likes it. Really, really likes it.

Jensen’s got tiny sun-specks everywhere on his face. The rays are right to be smitten with him. Jared isn’t allowed outside often, and he misses it.

It’s not meant to be mean, surely, when Jensen pulls away and kind of uncertainly says, “Um, how old are you?” But it hurts worse than needles – like Jared isn’t very good at movie-kissing.

Jensen’s marbles go to ping pong balls when Jared grits _fourteen_ , and he says, “but—but,” like this isn’t what he planned. He never meant to do this, he swears, your honor, that he didn’t set out to fall for a thumbsucker. “How are you in adult psychiatric?”

“I suffer elegantly.” Jared grins. He’s gotten so good at smiling. “And I’m very mature.”

 

~

 

Jared only learns his name when the night orderlies threaten to use a feeding hose on him and they have to call in help to hold Jittery Jared down. _Jensen, come here, Jensen, Jensen._ Jensen puts a palm on Jared’s ankle and it feels like he’s cradling his heart. 

 

~

 

On the other side of the nurses station is the janitor’s closet that houses all of Jensen’s waxes and scrubbers and 32 oz. bottles of bleach.

It’s after meal time and the residents are in the common room, dreaming and drawing and digesting. Jared scraped half his meal into the garbage bucket; the rest he’ll deal with later. There’s a stash of loving laxatives hidden in a little emptied out box of chocolate cherries tucked away in his white room.

Jensen is non-toxic. Jensen is unsuspecting. 

“You’re not supposed to fuck patients,” Jared says and delights in the subtle way Jensen startles. How his neck rosies and his arm hair sticks up like an erection.

Jensen sets down the stack of bedpans and turns carefully. He’s a blinky signal light. Jared, an oncoming car crash.

“I’m not,” he says, but he’s looking at Jared’s fingers when he talks, low.

“You won’t?” Jared says, ducking so Jensen has to look. So Jensen has to let Jared look. And Jared finds that this close up, Jensen looks like a painting. Jared jitters. 

 

~

 

Like everything about him, Jensen has a pretty cock.

Jared likes the look of it, the so-alive warmth, the feel of it in his big thin hand when Jensen blinks scaredly, looks around to see that the corridor is quiet, and nods an okay, lets Jared scoop his dick out of his dark blue uniform pants. 

It’s running a little wet and Jared rubs his fingertips all through it and also likes the powerful way he feels when Jensen closes his eyes and trembles finely.

But most of all, he finds out just days later when he ambushes Jensen by the laundry chute after last check, Jared likes the rainwater taste of it smeared thick under his tongue.

“Bring me flowers?” Jared says, when it looks like Jensen wants to. 

When he’s wearing unzipped pants and that filmy smile that says he just got his dick sucked and didn’t mind it a bit.

Jensen nods and traces a hot thumb beneath Jared’s milky bottom lip. Jared tried to eat it all but it was a lot. Jensen loves him a lot.

“But not a bouquet, okay?” Jared bites Jensen’s hand just for fun. “Get me one of those little potted ones.”

 

~

 

Jensen isn’t like Jared.

His name tag is made with a label maker and it’s got a daisy-yellow happy face sticker next to _Ackles_. He’s disposable, something temporary. Quiet people with silken smiles don’t last long in here.

Jared’s file is sealed up suffocation-tight and there’s only grim text and upped dosages next to _Padalecki_. He’s permanent, always contained. Noisy boys with sharp teeth stay eternities.

 

~

 

“One more bite, sweetie,” they say, watching him in that medicinal way under the fluorescent lights.

They make it sound like a suggestion. Every chew breaks his heart.

 

~

 

They’re pink tulips in a small clay cup.

Jensen sets them down on the bitty table next to Jared’s bed and he says, shy again, “They. They match your—“

Sheets, Jensen means.

“Dick?” Jared says, and now the skin under Jensen’s spots matches, too. Everything is pink. Jared’s dick feels _really_ pink all of a sudden.

He grabs Jensen’s hand and pulls him down onto the sweet sheets with the sweet flowers. Jensen is a sweet man. 

 

~

 

Someone down the hall is playing ‘50s music. Jared thinks it’s the ‘50s. It sounds a lot like Elvis anyway.

On the other side of the wall next to Jared’s whooshy old airconditioner unit, a lady named Georgia is talking about the Great Devil and the saints and something about rapture.

Jared pants, feeling rather rapturous himself, and grips Jensen’s elbows good, folds his knees up and out and thinks they look real nice together like this: Jared flat back and smushed into the mattress, Jensen all sweaty and nervous above him, pushing himself all the way into Jared’s papier mache body.

“It’s okay, you know,” Jared says into Jensen’s ear, against his face, burglar quiet. He knows how paranoid Jensen is. Shhh. “This doesn’t make you a childfucker.”

Jensen chokes up. Jared feels so full. He doesn’t mind it, like this.

“It just means you’d make a good husband.”

Someone turns the music up a little higher so Jensen fucks him a little louder. Jared stares at the ceiling while his legs bounce in the air and he doesn’t sing along with the song because he doesn’t know the words. But he tells Jensen that this is probably love. This is probably true love. 

He’s a hound dog, sirs and ma’ams, a fucking hound dog.

 

~

 

The dirt from Jensen’s good-guy gift is perfect. It’s smooth against the gums and substantial. It tastes of fresh chalk. 

Jared’s bad habits say he can’t go outside but Jensen brings the outside to him. They bury away the evidence together, deep in Jared’s little boy belly where the rest of their secrets go. Jensen hides lots of stuff in there.

 

~

 

Before breakfast one greygloom morning, Jared’s sitting in a broken wheelchair and boredly attempting to do donuts on the unmopped tile by the exam rooms when Jensen finds him and stammeringly tells him he dreamt of Jared’s eyes. 

“What–” Jared says, like there’s more he might say. There isn’t.

Jensen, resolute, doesn’t check to see that they’re alone and after he kisses jittery Jared, he beams and blooms and says, “just–they’re really special” and today he looks breathless, young. 

He looks really, really young.

**Author's Note:**

> rebloggable version [here](http://homo-pink.tumblr.com/post/140108447537/whenever-anyone-says-hes-got-him-some-bug-eyes)


End file.
